


Frayed

by Annabeth_Crestfallen_LeMorte



Series: Evil Author Day [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Evil Author Day, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Past Child Death, Pierced Stiles Stilinski, Post Mpreg, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29493567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabeth_Crestfallen_LeMorte/pseuds/Annabeth_Crestfallen_LeMorte
Summary: Evil Author Day Fic #1Originally a Tumblr prompt that I expanded on.It takes place when Stiles is around 32-33, although it's not explicitly stated.  At this point in time, Stiles hasn't seen Peter in nearly thirteen years, and now he's reluctantly sought him out in the hopes that he's able to help their daughter find her anchor.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Prior Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Evil Author Day [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166861
Comments: 24
Kudos: 115
Collections: Minions' writings





	Frayed

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Evil Author Day participation. If this is ever expanded and/or finished it will be reposted with the same title.

Peter’s managed to unlock his front door and is in the middle of stepping into his darkened home when a familiar scent hits him. It’s one he hasn’t smelled in ages, but it’s not one he’s ever likely to forget. “What do you want, Stiles?”

A hollow laugh comes from the direction of Peter’s living room. “It’s been a long time. How’d you know it was me?”

Peter drops his keys on the entryway table and makes his way towards Stiles’ voice. He flicks the lamp on, his eyes widening when he finds the living room empty. Peter’s claws instinctively spring from the tips of his fingers, even as he’s turning.

Stiles steps from the shadows of the hall, hands held up in front of him in a gesture of surrender, “before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”

“Explain what, exactly?” Peter’s voice is deathly quiet. Anyone who knows him knows that Peter at his most quiet is deadlier. He snarls at Stiles, baring his teeth, “how you managed to get into my home, or maybe how you were able to throw your voice so convincingly? Perhaps you’ll explain why you decided to leave Beacon Hills, and me, behind so many years ago?”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. Nothing he says will forgive what he’s done. Not in a million years.

Peter’s eyes flare blue, his voice quaking, “or maybe, just maybe, you’ll decide to tell me why you thought you could take **_our child_** away from me without so much as-”

"Wait, you knew?"

Peter scoffs. "Of course I knew! What kind of a werewolf would I be if I didn't smell it on you the second it happened?"

Stiles takes a step closer, "but you never said anything!"

"Because you fucking left!"

"But you could have-" 

_“Dad?”_

Peter freezes, eyes seeking out the source of the voice.

Stiles sighs, eyes squeezing shut, “Remy, I thought I told you to wait in the other room?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but that room smelled like someone’s den, and I heard yelling.”

Peter takes a step back at the sight of the girl that steps forward. Her eyes are glowing yellow, and the barest edge of fang is peeking out beneath her upper lip. She looks so much like Stiles it’s painful, the sight of her making Peter’s heart clench in his chest.

Stiles puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “Peter, meet Remy. Remy, this is Peter,” he takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly before continuing, “your father.”

Remy gasps, and in the next instant, she’s across the room and clinging to Peter like a lifeline.

Peter stumbles back a step, arms out to his sides. He has no idea what to do, so he simply stands there as the younger werewolf hugs him. She’s giggling as she takes deep inhales of his scent, her eyes filled with tears.

Stiles shrugs helplessly, “surprise?”

* * *

Peter hates that just seeing Stiles is enough to trigger so many painful memories, memories he mistakenly thought he’d buried deep.

Stiles’ hair is longer, ends curling over the collar of his jacket. The cut of the jacket makes it exceedingly clear that the years have been _very_ kind to his once lanky physique. The younger man has finally grown into those broad shoulders, and if the stretch of fabric over his chest is any indication, he’s gathered enough muscle mass to give Peter a run for his money. 

Peter’s jaw clenches as his eyes lift to Stiles’ face. He swallows hard when he realizes that Stiles is staring at him.

Stiles shrugs again, his face twisting in an expression of vague distress. He takes a breath, and calls out gently, “Remy.”

Peter growls softly at the faint edge of claws that scrape against his side as the young werewolf, _his daughter_ , attempts to hug him even tighter at the sound of her father’s voice.

“Remy, please come here.” Stiles takes another deep breath, then blows it out slowly, almost as if centering himself. When he speaks again, his voice carries an edge of power to it, “Remelinda Elaine Stilinski Hale, I-”

Several things happen at once.

The young girl releases Peter as she turns to snarl at Stiles, face shifted into her beta form. Her hands curl, even as claws sprout from her fingertips. She crouches briefly, then springs at Stiles.

Stiles takes a step towards his daughter, _into_ the charge, and ducks under her outstretched hands as his own hand disappears under his jacket.

Peter watches as Stiles’ hand reappears, clenched in a tight fist.

Stiles moves in front of Peter, “Remy, stop.” He shakes his head, “don’t make me do this, please.” The only response Stiles gets is a warning growl. He lifts his hand up, then brings it down quickly, fingers outstretched. Stiles drops to his knees, one hand coming up to cover his eyes in a meager attempt to hide the tears.

Peter’s eyes widen.

There, on the floor around Remy, is a perfect circle. She howls in frustration, hands beating uselessly at the mountain ash barrier.

Peter edges closer, “Stiles?”

“I’m fine; we’re both fine, I just,” Stiles exhales harshly, hands smoothing over his clothing as he stands, “I _really_ hate doing that.”

“You,” Peter shakes his head, “how long have you _been_ doing it?”

Stiles mutters under his breath, “ever since she hit puberty.” He tilts his head but stops mid-stretch to hiss in pain. Stiles lifts a hand to the side of his neck as he turns to address Peter, his fingers coming away smeared with blood, “It’s been a rough few months.”

Peter reaches for Stiles instinctively, hands gently tilting Stiles’ head back before he even realizes what he’s done.

Stiles flinches at the feel of Peter’s hands on his skin, but he allows for him to get a good look at the claw marks on his neck. The touch is light, barely noticeable, but it’s a gut-punch to Stiles, especially after all these years.

“Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we?” Peter turns, and disappears down the hall without a backward glance, fully expecting Stiles to follow him without question.

Stiles spares a glance towards his daughter, swallowing hard when he finds her glaring at him in unmitigated rage. He licks at his lips, blinking back tears as he takes a step to follow Peter. His steps falter at the sound of Remy’s voice, her words slicing deeper than her claws ever will.

_“I hate you!”_

Peter barely looks up as Stiles walks into the small powder room. He’s digging through a first aid kit, but gestures for Stiles to lean against the sink. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

Stiles grits his teeth at the sting of antiseptic. He laughs under his breath, “I’m pretty sure she does.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Peter shakes his head slightly, “Puberty is especially hard on born wolves.” He carefully affixes a bandage over the claw marks. “Whatever control she may have had before, it’s lost in the maelstrom of hormones her body is producing.” Peter’s touch lingers on Stiles’ neck, his thumb rubbing over his pulse.

Stiles whispers brokenly, "I never meant to hurt you.”

Peter nods, “I know.” He smiles ruefully, “it took me a long time, but I realize that now.”

“Thank you.” Stiles gestures to the bandage on his neck when Peter frowns in confusion. He looks away if only to gather enough strength to speak. "I didn’t come here to hurt you, I just,” Stiles’ breath shudders out of him, “I have no idea how to help her.”

“And you came to me?”

“I,” Stiles falters. He shrugs, face scrunching in obvious embarrassment, “I obviously didn’t think this all the way through.”

Peter smirks, “obviously.”

"I heard you moved on.” Stiles winces, “sorry, it’s none of my business. I have no idea why I said that, just forget it.”

“I still make you nervous? Even after all these years?”

Stiles ducks his head, “I’m gonna go with yes.” He fidgets with the ring on his left thumb, “I’m a grown-ass man, with a pre-teen daughter no less. I own my home, I pay taxes, and yet,” his eyes flick up to meet Peter’s, “I see you and I’m that teenage boy all over again.”

Peter leans on the wall opposite Stiles, “People like us don’t get happy endings, I suppose.”

“Like us?”

“People like me.” Peter gives Stiles a tight smile, “I’m a monster.”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, “you’re not. You may have done horrible things, but you’re not a monster.”

“It’s pretty to think so, but we all know better.”

“Don’t say that.” Stiles straightens, moving to stand directly in front of Peter.

It makes Peter realized just how much taller Stiles is now. He leans his head back against the wall, eyes taking in all the little, and not so little differences, in Stiles’ face. There’s a faint scar tracing from the corner of his left eye down to the middle of his cheek. Peter wonders how it got there, just what caused it, and wishes he could brush his lips over it, regardless of the many years between them. 

“You’re _not_ a monster.”

Peter smiles, allowing his fangs to lengthen as he speaks, “Aren’t I?” His eyes glow bright, “There are many that would argue that point.”

Stiles gives him a bland look. “You’re no more a monster than I am.”

Peter laughs, “Touché.” He blinks, eyes reverting to human, “You have no idea just how much I’ve missed you. No one else ever had the balls to tell me the truth about how much of an asshole I was.”

“Yeah well,” Stiles smirks, “ _someone_ had to knock you down a few pegs.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Hmmm, pretty sure.” Stiles rocks back on his heels as he shoves both hands into the pockets of his jeans. He turns to gaze out into the hallway, “amongst other things.”

“I see.” Peter’s gaze follows the line of piercings up Stiles’ ear to the silver bar transecting the upper part of it. There’s the barest edge of a tattoo visible beneath the fall of his hair.

“I should get back out there. She’ll have calmed down by now.”

Peter nods. He doesn’t intend to leave the relative safety of the powder room, but within seconds Stiles is back.

“You coming?”

“Only if you want-”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

And that’s how Peter finds himself trailing after Stiles while he struggles to not ogle just _how much_ Stiles has matured.

* * *

Peter pauses in the living room doorway, choosing to stay out of the way. He knows how ludicrous it sounds, ‘staying out of the way,’ in his own home, but still, he’s unable to bring himself to cross the threshold. 

Stiles shrugs out of his jacket on the way to where his daughter is sitting hunched over her bent knees. He drapes it over the back of the couch and eases onto the floor directly in front of the mountain ash barrier. “Hey, kiddo, how’re you doing?”

Remy’s body is shaking, her hands white-knuckled where she’s clutching at her legs. She seems to recoil at the sound of her father’s voice.

“I’m not angry, Rem.”

If at all possible, the tension in the room amps up further.

Stiles raps on the floor with his knuckles, “I know you didn’t mean it, and I know-”

“You don’t know _anything_!” Remy’s head shoots up, her eyes glowing brightly beneath the curtain of her hair, “it’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Stiles flinches back from his daughter’s words, his eyes blinking repeatedly as if to keep tears at bay. 

“You pathetic _human_ ,” Remy sits up, leaning forward slightly. Her lips curl in a wicked smile.

Peter steps forward, knowing instantly from the expression on her face that whatever follows will most certainly be unpleasant.

“Such a loser,” Remy taunts under her breath, eyes lifting to meet Peter’s own, “couldn’t even keep _you_ around, huh?”

Peter lifts a hand to press against the barrier, head tilting as he drags a claw over it, “Insolent. Little. _Brat_. You think you know everything, don’t you? You act _so_ grown up.”

Remy scoffs, rolling her eyes disdainfully, “Whatever.”

“Aww,” Peter _tsks_ , “what’s the matter, little girl? It’s okay as long as _you’re_ the one hurling insults at _daddy_?” Peter bares his teeth, “ _Child_.”

“Stop it!” Stiles catches hold of Peter’s sleeve; using it to, both wrench Peter back, and help himself stand. “I don’t need you antagonizing her! Just, back off, okay?”

“As you wish.”

Stiles blinks in surprise, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. He opens his mouth to speak but stops at the sound of his daughter’s voice.

“Your eyes are blue.”

Peter’s face shifts seamlessly to human. His answer is emotionless, “Yes. They have been,” he presses his lips together briefly, “for a very long time.”

“So,” Remy drags the word out unnecessarily, “you’re a murderer.”

“Remy!”

Peter holds a hand up, “it’s okay, Stiles.” He gives a short, mirthless laugh, “it’s not as if it’s some big secret.”

“Yeah right,” Remy scoffs. “ _Everything_ about you is a secret.” She sits back against the mountain ash barrier, and gestures towards Stiles, “ _He_ doesn’t talk about you, like, _at all_. I was in thirdgrade before I found out my last name wasn’t Hale because of Derek.”

“Derek?” Peter turns to stare at Stiles in horror, “you and _Derek_?”

“No!” Stiles shudders, “God, no! Derek and I aren’t, we never-” He rubs at his eyes, explaining tiredly, “Derek’s listed as one of her guardians, that’s all.”

“You know, sometimes?” Remy muses under her breath, almost as if talking to herself, “sometimes I think he wishes he’d never met you.”

“Remy-”

“What, Dad? You know it’s true! If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here, and your life wouldn’t suck.”

Stiles stares at his daughter in shock. “How can you say that? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Now _that’s_ just sad.”

“You really think that?”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles spares a glance at Peter, “what?”

“Do you really think,” he gestures towards where Remy is sitting, “she’s the best thing that ever happened to you?”

Stiles looks over at his daughter, then back at Peter. He nods with a smile, “yeah, she is.”

“All this time, I thought,” Peter swallows hard. “I thought you’d left because-”

“No, I didn’t." Stiles shakes his head at Peter, "I left because-”

“ _You_ left?!” Remy’s shriek makes both Peter and Stiles wince. “All this time, I thought,” she turns to look at Peter, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, “ _you_ left us.”

Peter’s voice is only just loud enough for Remy to hear, “no, I simply respected his decision.”

“Remy, listen,” Stiles holds his hand up when Remy opens her mouth to argue with him. Surprisingly, she shuts it without speaking. “Leaving was,” a pained laugh escapes him. Stiles crosses to stand in front of her, “it was hard to do, and hurt _so_ much.” He runs a hand through his hair, “you never asked, and I simply-”

“I _did_ ask,” Remy’s chin quivers, “and you told me he was somewhere far away doing important werewolf business. You said that when I howled at the moon, he was howling at it too.”

“Oh, honey, that was a bedtime story I made up when you were little.” 

“I thought if I howled loud enough he’d come home, and I tried so hard, but,” tears spill down over her cheeks, “he never came.”

“Oh, baby,” Stiles holds a hand out, palm down, hovering over the barrier between them. He rolls his wrist, and the mountain ash swirls up into the palm of his hand as he makes a fist.

Remy surges forward.

Stiles stumbles back a step at the force of her hug. He takes a second to tuck the tiny amount of mountain ash into the pocket of his jeans before wrapping both arms around his daughter, “I’m so fucking sorry, Rem.”

Remy’s answer is muffled against Stiles’ chest, “language.”

Stiles laughs softly, hugging Remy tighter then releasing her when she steps back to look up at him. He brushes her hair off her face, fingers smoothing it down over her shoulders without thought.

_“You’re scent marking her.”_

Stiles turns at Peter’s whispered statement, “I'm sorry, what?” 

Peter gestures at how Stiles is still running his hand over Remy’s hair. “When you do that,” he tilts his head, “it’s your way of scent marking her.”

“Oh, I,” Stiles lifts his hand to stare down at his palm, “guess I am.” He shrugs, “I’ve always done it, even when she was a baby. It seemed to calm her down, and it never occurred to me that _that_ might be the reason.”

Remy presses her face against Stiles’ chest, arms tightening around his waist.

“Whoa, hey,” Stiles grunts, “still human here, kiddo.” He looks over at Peter’s outstretched hand. “You gonna do something with that?”

Peter stares down at his hand as if only just realizing that he reached out. “I, uh,” he clears his throat and lowers his hand quickly, “sorry.”

“No need to apologize. I just threw a lot in your lap.” Stiles gives him a knowing smile, “guess I haven’t changed much, huh?”

“No,” Peter mutters under his breath, “you have.”

Stiles stares at him in surprise.

“What with the,” he gestures to the piercings, “and the,” his left hand gestures to Stiles’ full sleeve of tattoos which are now clearly visible without the jacket to hide them. “Kind of makes me wonder-”

“He’s got them on his back and legs, too.”

Peter’s brows lift at Remy’s words.

“My friends all like him ‘cause they think he’s cool.” There’s a distinct edge of pride in her voice as she gazes at Peter with cool indifference.

Peter gives her a tight smile, “I’m sure he is.” He glances at Stiles before addressing Remy again, “I bet he lets you do anything you want.”

Remy scoffs, “Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes, “I said _my friends think_ he’s cool, and _dad_ thinks he’s cool, but he’s a huge nerd.”

“Ah. So, he only _looks_ cool.”

“Peter,” Stiles levels him with a glare, “please, don’t encourage her.”

“Yeah, plus, he’s super strict. I have a curfew, and like, a million rules. I can’t go out on the weekend without a babysitter, and when friends come over, I have to leave my door open. It’s super dumb.”

“That all sounds like pretty normal dad stuff.”

“No, it’s not. I have to leave _my door_ open. D’you know what that means?”

Peter blinks in confusion, “no?”

“It means that when I have friends over, they walk around in tiny shorts and t-shirts, trying to get dad’s attention ‘cause they think he’s hot.” Remy’s face twists in disgust, “like dad’s gonna decide he wants to date one of them.”

Stiles makes a strangled noise in the base of his throat, and Peter ducks his head to hide a smile.

“But really,” Remy pulls away from Stiles to give Peter her full attention, “they’re sniffin’ in the wrong direction, huh? I mean, if anyone was going to fuck a teenager, it’s _you_ , right?” 

Stiles’ shocked outburst carries a definite edge of reprimand, _“Remy!”_

“What, dad? Am I wrong?” Remy tilts her head to give him a look fairly reminiscent of his teenage self, “I’m not stupid. You were nineteen and let a man in his forties take advantage of you.” She wrinkles her nose, “Kinda gross, dad.”

"I wasn't-"

“I’ll have you know I was _not_ in my _forties._ ” Peter’s eyes flare briefly, “And for your information, your father and I had a mutually beneficial, _consensual_ relationship.”

“Where you sexed him up.”

Stiles chokes out, “'Sexed him up?’ Seriously, Remelinda!?”

“As evidenced by your existence,” Peter states blandly, “yes, sex was involved.”

Stiles mutters under his breath, _“Don’t mind me, please, just pretend I’m not here.”_

“Was it at least _good_ sex?”

“That, young lady, is none of your business.”

Remy smirks, “well, that’s a yes.”

Peter bares his teeth at her, lips curling back as his fangs extend.

Stiles steps between them instantly. He lifts his hands to cup the back of Peter’s neck. His fingers delve into the hair at the base of Peter’s skull, nails scratching gently along his hairline until he’s massaging both earlobes between his thumb and forefinger. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth when Peter’s face relaxes and his head falls back, exposing his throat. Stiles chuckles softly under his breath, “guess that still works, huh?”

At the sound of Stiles’ voice, Peter’s head snaps up, and he pulls away with a snarl. His chest is heaving, and yet, his eyelids are heavy as he tries to compose himself.

“Sorry.” Stiles holds his hands up, “I had no right to touch you.”

Peter rolls his neck and shoulders, “You were only protecting your daughter.”

“ _Our_ daughter.”

“ _Your_ daughter. She ceased to be my daughter when you snuck away in the dead of night.”

Remy laughs, “like you’re dad material.”

Peter growls in response to the taunt. “Don’t speak of things you have no knowledge of.” His jaw clenches. “Nothing I did deserves having my children ripped away from me!” He stalks forward, “I was deemed not old enough to raise the first, not human enough to raise the second, and when I finally had the privilege of seeing my child be born, hunters decided my entire family deserved to die. 

“I never got to see my son grow up. Instead, I held him while my whole world crumbled to ash. I watched my little boy die, and I was helpless to stop it. All I could do was tell him how much his daddy loved him as he choked on the smoke filling our home!” Tears spill down Peter’s face, and voice is shaking as he speaks, “my entire life was ruined because I was different, and I vowed that night, I vowed never to let myself be that vulnerable again.” He swallows hard, “I guess I got lax in my _old age._

“I never thought I’d ever get that chance again, but then it happened.” Peter throws his hands up in frustration, “and the one person I thought would never judge me took that chance away, all without so much as goodbye.” He shakes his head, “so _please_ , tell me how _I’m_ the one deserving of your vitriol.”

Stiles reaches for Peter, seeking to comfort him.

Peter backs away, hands held out between them. “Don’t touch me! You lost the right to touch me the minute you walked out of my life.” His lips press together, “I’ve made a life for myself, one without you, and now you’re back? You don’t get to do that. Not anymore you don’t.” He points towards the front door angrily, “Get out. Take your daughter and get out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, they remain the property of their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them to play for a little bit. All the stories are done for fun, not profit.


End file.
